The Eyes Of A Child
by oOKermitTheFrogOo
Summary: Crayons. A feast to the eyes. A wonderful tool to apease the imagination. In this case, they are being gripped by the infantile fingers of Ike Broflovski. He would go to any length to make sure his artwork is delivered to its new owner. Brotherly Fluff.


**Dedicated to Evan Nicholas Ramirez.**

**Sure, we fight, but don't all siblings? I love this kid, no matter how much I pretend I don't. I remember my parents taking me into the computer room, smiling like idiots.**

"**It's a boy!"**

**They cried joyously. A six year old girl blinked and stared emotionless at her parents. Then said:**

"**TAKE IT BACK! I DON'T WANT IT! TAKE IT BACK!"**

**But seldom has any respectable adult listened to a mere child.**

**In this one, rare instance, I'm glad they did not.**

**I was scornful when I walked into the hospital room that day, eager to find some way to dispose of him.**

**Then, I saw him. All my troubles melted away as I held him.**

**That's my brother.**

**And here you are now.**

**7 years of age.**

**I just want you to know, Evan,**

**That no matter how much I scream, or yell, or hit, or cry…**

**I'll ALWAYS love you.**

**This story is about the view from a child's eyes.**

**I hope that we both can forever keep this sense of mind.**

**I feel mine slipping away…**

**Slowly becoming a greedy adult…**

**Promise me?**

**Promise me you'll always hold your inner child close.**

**Perhaps if not for me…**

**Then keep it for our parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles who have lost theirs to the cruel hand of age.**

_Crayons. _They really are a treat to the eyes. An array of hues scattered all around the room, igniting the dismal sea-foam walls with a dazzling collage. Colors of the rainbow and much, much more, all at the disposal of a child. Seen through the eyes of a skeptical adult, this would be a bother. A mess in need of cleaning, a chore in need of doing. Through the eyes of a toddler, it was wonderland. A magical world, a sea of adventures waiting to be explored, a vast land of discoveries just waiting to be found.

Currently, a burnt orange was being gently dragged across ivory paper which was oh-so blank just moments ago. Sure, the hands holding this magical tool were infantile and small…but at the same time they were soft, and filled with care.

Sure, the little hands were stained with multiple shades of wax, but that didn't seem to matter. The child who was bearing these sticks of tint was named Ike Broflovski. He added more scribbles with simple joy to the mess of blobs on the sheet in front of him. To the eyes of a calculating adult, such a thing would be called junk, a waste of trees. To the eyes of a child, it was a masterpiece that far outdid the works of Michael Angelo.

When he dug through his mother's closet of supplies, in the corner of the main hallway, he found a multitude of paper. Notebook paper, copy paper, parchment even… through the eyes of an adult, picking a paper was just the small task of picking up a meaningless hunk of tree. Through the eyes of an infant, it was a dangerous process. This decision would alter the work he would soon bestow upon the 'piece of tree'. He had to pick just the right shade, just the right amount of bends and crumples, just the right amount of specialty.

Satisfied with his work, the 3 year old wiped his messy hands on the viridian carpet, frowning delicately at the small specs of brown sticking to the wax, along with a few green twigs the adults called weeds. He didn't see why, they were just another beautiful, gracious gift handed to them by Mother Nature. His thoughts drifted back to his hands, and he shook his head. This just wouldn't do… how was he going to handle his precious work of art with dirty hands? He looked out from the porch he was occupying, into the backyard. To an adult, it was just another piece of space, a space used for holding a pet unwanted in the clean walls of a house, or a place to hold a party for people the host secretly doesn't like, but just wants to impress. To a child, however, it was a vast world that was just begging to be delved into. All sorts of odd little creatures just pleading to be chased. To an adult these creatures were rodents…vermin, even. To a child, they were friends.

He grinned and made sure his art was secure, placing a fairly clean rock on the edge of the work, before dashing out into the mystic utopia. It was humid outside, to an adult, this would be a damper on (perhaps too much) anticipated plans to do some silly, pointless event. To a child, it was just another day, somewhat bothersome, but a good excuse to ask for some ice cold lemonade.

Ike continued through the garden, stopping to admire the little things. Spider webs for one, how they danced along with the dainty gusts of wind, how the sun reflected on the small, so easily breakable strings, making the light dance with several hues. Leaves, for another. How you could hold them up against the rays of heat, and watch the lines cascade in different twists and turns, creating intricate designs against the surface of the vegetation. He dropped the fraction of a branch, tilting his head slightly, so that he allowed his eyes to set on the limitless craftsmanship that was the sky. The child wasn't sure what sort of hand could have ever managed to chisel such a wondrous gem. Whoever had done must have had a skilled, gentle hand. The child grinned boastfully. Like me. He thought, and he continued his journey.

Finally, he reached his destination. On the side of the house, there was a small knob, and a sleeping snake. Ike slowly tip-toed over to it, cautious not to wake this slumbering beast. If he did, who knew what havoc this creature could wreak? He breathed heavily, hearing his little heart hammer in his ears at incredible speeds. An adult would just scoff and laugh, thinking of crude, snobby insults to deliver upon this foolishness. To a child, this was the most hazardous task of all. The imagination was a fickle thing, it was not meant to be taken for granted. It was a privilege, not a force to be reckoned with.

Gingerly, the boy reached for the knob, hand quivering ever so slightly, fearful that this snake might lunge at him. After a moment, he gulped, closed his eyes so tight, colors began swimming in his vision; he grasped the knob and twisted it, causing the snake to spit up water. It was a water snake, a mysterious creature. If you twisted the dial on its backside, it let out a stream of clean water, for any person who was needy enough.

He whispered a small "Thank You" into the wind, not sure to whom he was talking to. He ran his hands quickly under the fountain, being sure to shut it off as soon as he could. Being wasteful wasn't a good thing, no. He wouldn't ever take advantage of this chance. To an adult, this supply was limitless, well, for them at least. For the people in the future, no. But who cared about them? That was their problem.

Ike stuffed his grubby hands in his overall pockets, darting through the bushes and vegetation, careful to keep them clean. He ducked under the branches of the small lemon trees his mother had planted. When he returned to his precious art, he picked up the rock, and placed it gently on the ground next to the door. His mother forbade taking items that could make messes inside her gracious abode, but he did owe the rock at least a small favor. I mean, the kind fellow had guarded his picture.

He picked it up with his index finger and thumb by the corner, realizing his hands were still damp from the snake's water. He sighed as the paper became flimsy in his grasp, soft and delicate as a porcelain object. To him, it was. He held the paper as if with one wrong move, it would shatter into a million pieces. He carried it into the house, running as quickly as he could into the living room.

"Oh deh family nrrr…" He exclaimed when he saw the boy he was looking for. To an adult, the toddler's speech was nothing but rubbish. It was cute, sure, and amusing…but, it meant nothing. To a child, this was intellectual language far beyond the likes of Albert Einstein. He waddled over to his brother, a bounce in his step, grinning up at the lanky nine year old boy.

The boy wore a green ushanka, covering his mess of red curls, holding a strange contraption in his hands. His emerald gaze was cast onto the screen as his skilled fingers darted from button to button so fast they were a blur. His tongue was jutting out from his mouth slightly, resting on his upper lip with concentration.

"I wumuh trecompr!" Ike nagged, poking at his brother's shoe with his free hand. No response.

"Com! Trebunnhur!" He squeaked, beginning to tug at Kyle Broflovski's shoe now. The older Broflovski boy's thumb hit a button in the far corner of the device, and he turned to glare down at the younger of the two.

"Dude, Ike. Can't you see I'm busy?" He turned to glare at Ike so fast he could have possibly given himself a whiplash. Ike was intimidated by his brother's scowl; he hated seeing his brother angry like this. Had he really bothered him that much? He felt a pang of guilt strike him in the chest, and he hung his head. He gave a small exhale and began to walk away, dragging the now meaningless paper on the floor. You know, material things don't mean a lot to children if they don't have the approval of a certain someone.

"Oh, hey Ike…I didn't mean it!" Kyle leaped off the couch, following him. He spoke to his brother like an equal, like he would to his best friend, Stan. At the moment, he was reminding himself of Cartman. Oh…that was a low blow. He felt a frown curl on his lip, distorting his features.

Could Kyle see his work? What if he reacted negatively? What if he would laugh at him? Oddly enough, the brain of a three year old is capable of enhanced thoughts, a lot more than anyone can give credit for. Just because they can't talk, doesn't mean they can't think. Kyle was the only one over age five that seemed to know that as he paced after his brother, looking worried.

"Here!" Ike enunciated, thrusting the paper into Kyle's chest. Ike squeezed his beady eyes shut, shut so tightly that little swirls of color swam around once again in his vision, they danced and exploded, much like the fear he was feeling.

Silence…the child's ears rang for a moment, and then were cut short by the sound of someone flopping down on the carpet. Reluctantly, Ike opened one eye, taking a daring risk. An adult perhaps wouldn't care about a critic's opinion…to a child; this was the most important piece to the puzzle. What the viewer believed. The other boy is only grinning brightly, clutching Ike's masterpiece. Ike opened the other, deciding to take it all in. To his displeasure, Kyle was suddenly frowning. The infant's ebony eyes flashed, begging him to understand…

"I don't like it." He stated dismally.

It was clear how Ike's heart dropped from the sky when these 4 mere words were said.

"I love it." Kyle laughed a bit, ruffling his brother's hair. Ike grinned proudly, smiling at his brother's touch. No words could describe the swell of relief building up in the child.

"Two, tree, four. Wurr… ponehtah…" He said, pointing to two large blobs. Great pride was evident in his voice, even though a lot of what he was saying was gibberish, and Kyle understood him as if he spoke in every day English. The larger blob wore a green scribble for a hat, and his body was a scrawl of orange. A crooked little curve could possibly be depicted as a smile. A part of the orange scribble was elongated to the right, and about halfway, it turned sky blue. The wax was smeared a bit, but it gave Kyle the impression of someone holding hands. His eyes traced the blue, and it hit the smaller shape. It was, at least to him, easily recognized as the artist himself. Writing above it was barely legible, but a K was readable in both words, so he presumed it said: "Kyle and Ike."

"It's…It's the nicest thing I've ever seen." Kyle spoke truthfully, words filled with warmth and caring. Ike knew very well that this wasn't a lie. His big brother, even if Ike had been adopted, wouldn't lie at a time like this. How he knew? Eyes don't lie. Ike flung himself into the arms of his brother.

To an adult…this was just another pointless doodle. The paper was just something to toss in the recycling bin. To a child…this was the most honorable, special gift that far succeeded any diamond.

Hopefully, the picture would always be viewed that way to both of these children and this picture would bind them together as family, to never lose that special touch.

**FIN**


End file.
